"This place is fabulous. One day I'm going to be rich enough to live in a house this ."

          "Alice, this is a repass. We just watched these people bury their mother."

          She ran a hand over the dreadlocks she'd piled into an elegant bun on top of her head. "And I respect her greatly. But this house, though."

          She wasn't wrong, the house—if you could call it that—was the stuff of dreams. Diana Dupont had bought a home in one of the oldest, richest neighborhoods in Burenville. The multimillion-dollar mansion was in Ortega, a man-made peninsula that jutted into the San Juan river. The property sat right against the cool, murky water. The neighborhoods occupants boasted of bankers, real estate developers, several players of our city's NFL team, and the mayor.

          We two gals had awoken this morning lifelong middle-classers and by the afternoon we'd traded in our golden tickets to take a guided tour through the upper class.

          Alice was dazzled by the extravagance of the plantation houses, the river, the yacht club, and the expensive cars. I, however, was working.

          And I wasn't the only one. Caterers dressed head to toe in black mingled among the crowd with silver trays full of unpronounceable hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne from France and not California. Honestly, the whole scene was giving me 'Nam flashbacks to my days waiting tables, but I relieved the bad memories with a plate full of decedent gourmet food.

          The only other person on the clock was the maid. She mostly stayed indoors but occasionally she'd step off the deck and hustle over to Destiny Dupont. I might not have paid her much mind except that she seemed particularly indebted to her above the other Dupont children, even though three out of four still lived in the house. Curious.

          The funeral had been quick—ish, at least. Only an hour.

          I'd spent the whole service watching the main family down on the front pew and trying desperately not to look at the time on my phone. The front of the church was painted a soothing beige; the only decoration a large ornate cross hung high on the wall behind the choir loft. There was no clock. Smart.

          Diana lay before the alter swaddled in a simple silk suit with a matching jewel studded hat. Surrounding her was a field of flowers.

          The preacher preached for twenty minutes about how precious life is, the virtues of living a godly life, and Diana's many philanthropic efforts, yada yada yada. Then, after they'd sung every sad Negro Spiritual in the AMC's 'We got a funeral' handbook, the pallbearers marched her mahogany casket out while the choir belted a rendition of Goin' Up Yonder that was actually pretty damn good.

          Behind them, the Dupont siblings followed their mother. Diana had two sons but neither had opted to help carry the casket. Instead they had escorted their sisters in and out of the church. Only leaving their sides once the burial was over and the remaining mourners had reconvened at Diana's mansion for the repass. Both events were invite only but the repass saw much fewer participants.

          Only Diana's inner circle was present now in the back garden of the white paneled castle she had called home for twenty-five years. Besides her children and grandchildren, the guests in attendance ranged from lawyers to CEOs to investors. Alice's eyes were practically sparkling with opportunity.

         "Don't even think about it." I said as we walked onto the back terrace and into the backyard. And by 'backyard' I meant elegant river side garden with shining brick deck covered by a flowered overhead trellis. Like the rest of the neighborhood the yard was shaded under a network of great branching oaks that swayed in the early afternoon breeze. It was as if I'd stepped into a post winter Narnia. Even the weather was perfect—though come summer the air would go from pleasant to muggy. "We're not here for you to try and make friends with the country club."

          "Like you didn't think of it?"

          It was true that mingling with such a wealthy crowd presented certain business prospects that were hard to ignore, but now seemed inappropriate. "They probably aren't in the mood to talk shop considering we just buried their friend."

          "True," she said with an exaggerated southern twang. "But tomorrow is another day."

          "Why Miss Scarlet, are those business cards in your hand or did I take a swift hit to the head?"

          She sipped delicately at her champagne, savoring the taste of wealth. "Maybe some of these rich folks are in the market for a new accountant."

          "I doubt that very much." Alexis spotted me while making the rounds and came sauntering over. "Here she comes. Be cool."

          "Ms. Harper," Alexis's mourning wear was a sleek black empire dress that came down just above the ankles. Her braids were pulled into an elegant side pony. "I'm glad you could make it."

         "Of course." I leaned in and gave her a hug, more for looks than anything. "This is Alice. She's my—"

          "Girlfriend." Alice stepped forward and held out her hand. "Alice Hill, accountant."

          "Oh, okay." Alexis shook hands as politely as was necessary. "Ms. Harper, I hope we can talk later?"

          "Of course." When she was gone, I looked at Alice. "Girlfriend?"

          "I panicked."

          "You don't panic."

          She shrugged. "Fine. I was winging it."

          Why do all my ride-alongs go rogue? "Whatever. I could do worse."

          "Me too."

          "I'm not kissing you, though."

          She smiled. "Okay, but you're missing out."

          As I watched Alice wander off to try and chat up the rich folk, I lingered back and took a look at the crowd. They were a glamorous sort; dressed head to heel in foreign fashion and jewelry worth thousands if not more. Still, even in a sea of black the quality was without question.

          I took a guarded bite of roasted duck that was much too dry and stared through the layers of falsehood to see if I could parse the people underneath.

          Laying back on a red cushioned brown wicker love seat, was one of Diana's sons. He held a soft hand to his head to shield his squeezed shut eyes from the sun. His other hand rest around what looked like a glass of bourbon on the rocks. A hangover. That must be Gabriel, then.

          He was kind of handsome or, well, he would have been if not for the alcohol bloat. According to Alexis he'd forgone college to party away his twenties. And his inheritance. Now he split his time between his childhood bedroom upstairs and a swank rehab facility on the west side.

          Sitting across from him on a matching armchair was Malik.

          Every flaw apparent in Gabe was non-existent in him. Where Gabe carried an extra ten pounds, Malik was slim. Gabe's bushy unkempt beard was slovenly against Malik's clean-shaven jawline. Drooping bloodshot eyes verses the clear focus behind serious square glasses. His attractiveness was unblemished by vices, stress, or even time. Though Alexis had said Malik was the older brother, Gabe looked ten years worse for the wear.

          Malik sat staring off at nothing, a champagne flute hanging from hands less soft than Gabe's. He looked very concentrated on looking distraught. Best not to break his focus.

          Next to him was a woman dressed in a simple black suit. She nibbled on a plate of hors d'oeurvres and took sneaking peeks at Malik through straightened shoulder length hair but otherwise looked bored. A girlfriend maybe?

          Destiny had sent the maid off and was now busy trying to coerce her rambunctious eight-year-old from out of a Zen water feature. "Damon!" She whisper—yelled. "Get out of there now!'

          "But it's hot!" he whined.

          "I know."

          He climbed out with a deep frown and slogged over to his mother. She responded by smiling, patting him on the head, and removing the overcoat of his fancy little three—piece suit. Then she pat him on the back and told him to go play with his sister.

          After that little show, I spent the rest of my time snacking on apple and brie tartletts and grilled lamb, chatting with mourners, and observing the family.

          "Oh, you're a business owner?" A banker named Tom asked me as I munched on salmon cakes.

          'Yes. I own a cafe."

          "Oh, how quaint. The best cafe I've ever been to was this little place in the French Riviera. I had the most amazing cuisses de greniolle in this garlic lemon sauce that was divine."

          "We don't serve frog legs, but our donuts are pretty hoppin'."

          "You're funny!" He gave me the fakest chuckle I've ever heard outside of retail. "Have you tried the apple tart yet?"

          "Yeah. It's pretty great. Apples and cheese. Who knew?" Jackson, probably.

          "Destiny got the best caterer in town."

          "Really?"

         "She put this whole thing together last minute."

         Huh, I thought Alexis was hosting. "She has excellent taste in caterers."

         "How do you know Diana?"

          I swallowed slowly as I readied my next lie. "She was my mentor."

         "Really? Diana had great business sense. If she mentored you your cafe must be something special. Do you have a business card?"

          I pulled my card holder from my purse. "Sure."

         From across the yard Alice smirked and raised an eyebrow. I responded with a shrug and she shook her head. 20/20 vision ass heifer.

          I ignored Alice and gave the man a business card but otherwise tried to keep a low profile lest someone notice I didn't exactly belong. Most of the guests seemed reserved—like everyone was quietly holding their breath. You could cut the tension with a butter knife.

          Eventually Alexis finished playing host and started looking about for me. "How you holding up?" I asked when she rounded back to my spot.

          "Better than I thought." She smiled sadly and looked out over the crowd. "My sister, not so much. And Gabe. Well, Gabe is Gabe."

          "What about Malik?"

          "He's as composed as ever."

          "Who's that next to him? His girlfriend?"

          She looked through the crowd and found Malik and the mystery friend. "Oh, no. That's Corrine. She was mom's live-in nurse."

          Mighty cozy with the boss's son. But that's none of my business. "When should I do it?"

          "Not now. After the speeches."

          "Speeches?"

          "We thought it would be nice if the people closest to mom would say a few words about her."

          Sounds tedious, but it could prove to be a nice distraction. I grabbed a seat and got comfortable in a half-assed conversation with a CEO of some company or other...

          "So, what do you do?" He said.

          "Own a cafe."

          "Really. That's so interesting." He graced me with the smarmiest of smiles and I saw all thirty-two teeth. "Do you own it with your, uh...husband?"

          Oh, for fucks sake. "Uh, no. But I did come with my girlfriend."

        "Girlfriend?"

          "She's around here somewhere."

          "Oh."

          After that the gentleman whose name I forgot eased himself on down the road. Kudos to Alice for the convenient fib. I hunkered down with a plate of zucchini fritters preparing for another ten minutes of inane small talk and eyeballing more apple tarts but to my relief it looked like the speeches were ready to commence.

          A middle-aged man in an immaculately tailored three-piece suit walked up to a makeshift stage and cleared his throat. "Now, we'd like to celebrate Diana's legacy by inviting the guests to say a few words about her."

          In the moment of slightly awkward silence that followed people shifted uncomfortably, mumbled to themselves, and looked around but no one stepped forward.

          "Alright," said the man on the stage. "I'll go first. Diana and I have been friends for thirty years. I remember the day she told me the company was going to be something great. She said, 'Robert, I've got a good thing here. I'm going to make a million.' She had a rare fire about her."

          He went on like that for another two minutes, painting Diana Dupont as a tough as nails businesswoman who never met a challenge she couldn't overcome. By the end of his speech I was enthralled. Maybe someday people would talk about me that way. Maybe I could be the next Diana Dupont.

          Evelyn Marie Harper. Founder of Taste Teas: the international tea house franchise...

          I was pulled from my power fantasy when Destiny Dupont stomped to the stage. She was tall and slender; her lithe form wrapped in a silk cocktail dress with a matching hat. A line of pearls slung low across her chest. Where Alexis had chosen to style herself in box braids, her sister had cut her relaxed hair into a fashionable bob that made her look like she belonged on a runway somewhere.

          "My mother," she said, her voice cracking. "Was a good person. One of the best. When I was a little girl, she told me, 'I named you Destiny because you're destined for great things'. That's the type of person she was. She had just such a gift for knowing greatness when she saw it..."

           What the hell? Is she eulogizing Diana or herself?

          "...She was truly the wind beneath my wings. I don't know how I'll go on without her... But I know I made her proud—Damon!" She said sternly as she stared daggers at her son. "Get out of that fountain. Don't make me call your father."

          She left the stage to go wrangle her son from the water instillation again while I contemplated. Would she be the kind of person to take a necklace she knew was earmarked for her sister? Maybe. Would she be dumb enough to hide it in her room two doors down? I don't know. She didn't seem like a thief to me, but would you even call it thievery? It's her house too. She'd put this party together herself and she was mostly nice to her son. That didn't mean she was above 'stealing' from family, but she wasn't some super villain either...

         The next ten minutes was an agonizing parade of Diana's business associates standing up and telling stories about her life. I was struck between my want to listen to tales of my hero, finding the right moment to excuse myself to go search the upstairs, and fighting back yawns of boredom.

          I wasn't expecting this to be some seminar with the finest business minds in the city but man, it's clear these people didn't earn their fortunes from stellar speech giving or their sparkling personalities.

          My god, someone tell a joke. Someone smile. Someone tell a good story about a time she was a dork or was funny or just human. End this pageant of dissertations. End the misery. And someone please give Malik the Oscar for best performance already. I don't think he can pretend to care much longer.

         There was a lull in the speeches in which I thought to make my escape when a chubby woman sauntered up to the stage with such a clumsy gait, I knew instantly that there was no one here more drunk but Gabe. And he'd had the decency to fall unconscious ten minutes ago at the start of the boring speeches. While the woman had drawn all eyes with a dramatic half stumble up to the stage I'd stood and was about to slink my way inside when she spoke; her slurred words were laced with fury.

          "I just want to say that all this is bullshit!" I stopped in my tracks and turned around. "Nobody knew her like me! Nobody!"

          "Aunt Margie, stop!" Destiny whisper-yelled.

          "We started that business together. And what do I have to show for it? Nothing! She cheated. She cheated me! We were friends! We were more than friends..." Holy lesbianism, Batman... "We were sorors." Oh, lame. "We pledged together. We graduated together. We came up with the business together. But the formula was mine!"

          Malik jumped on the little makeshift stage with the grace of a lion on the hunt. A smile played at his lips but I couldn't read the look in his eyes behind the glare of his glasses. "Alright, Aunt Margie. Don't embarrass yourself."

          Bit late for that.

          "No, Malik...let me finish. It was my formula. I made it. She just sold it. And then she sold me...out. And Robert! Fuck you." I felt the tremor of that fuck move through my body like lightening. She meant that shit. I stuffed an apple tart in my mouth just to keep from smiling. I heard Alice straight up howl with laughter. A chorus of panicked voices rose above the crowd.

          "Someone get Phil!"

          "Someone wake Gabe!"

          "Somebody call security."

          And somebody call an ambulance 'cause I about died.

          In the hubbub, as Malik and another man tried to wrestle the inebriated woman off the stage, I took advantage of the inattentive crowd and walked as nonchalantly as possible back through the French patio doors. As I was stepping through the threshold I walked right into the maid.

          "Oh, excuse me." I said like I wasn't up to no good. "Where's the bathroom."

          She pointed down a hallway. "Third door on the left." Her accent was thick with the melodies of one of the Islands, but I couldn't pinpoint it.

          Either way she paid me no more mind as she became distracted by the struggle happening in the garden and ran outside to help.

          With the coast clear, I entered the house and hurried back toward the foyer where a staircase with an intricate hand carved railing would lead me to Destiny Dupont's room and an easy payday.

          What could possibly go wrong?